


Blood and Biscuits: The Spike and Giles Chronicles

by Jen



Series: Blood and Biscuits: The Spike and Giles Chronicles [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: BtVS S4, Drabble Collection, Gen, Humor, Missing Scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jen/pseuds/Jen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Sunnydale's version of Oscar and Felix...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Spike's sojourn with Giles during BtVS S4, starting with "Pangs." Non-linear timeline; still in progress on my LJ.

Giles woke to the sound of chains rattling, wondered sleepily if Marley had come to visit. But it was only Thanksgiving, not Christmas.

"Rise and shine, Watcher!"

Not a ghost. Something much worse.

Giles staggered to the bathroom. "What?"

"Creature of the night, yeah?" Spike lifted his chains to point at the narrow window.

"You'll have to confine your 'creaturing' to daylight hours if you're to stay, Spike."

Spike heaved a sigh. "It's unnatural."

"So is a tub full of vampire. Good night, Spike."

"Blood and biscuits at dawn?"

"No, Spike."

"Right. Unemployed. Up at noon, is it?"

"Sod off."

*

"Please?"

"No."

"_Please_?"

"Spike, I'm far too busy to watch television with you. Surely you don't need company for that."

Spike pouted. "Got used to it. Harm used to watch with me, liked that the town had her name." He brightened. "You know, you might actually find it educational."

"I highly doubt it."

"But it's got all manner of supernatural plots. Witches, warlocks, closet doors to Hell, and the like."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Spike gestured. "Look."

Giles watched in silence, then sat. "Well, that doesn't make any sense. No witch would use _those_ ingredients for a love spell."

*

"My albums are out of order," Giles complained, lifting an improperly alphabetized record for emphasis.

"What are you gonna do? Chain me up again?"

"Need I remind you that you are entirely dependent these days on the forbearance of others?"

"No, you needn't," Spike responded peevishly. "I am painfully aware. Can't you scrape together a modicum of sympathy for my…condition?"

"If by 'condition' you mean 'inability to kill people,' the answer is no."

"A bloody tyrant's what you are."

"Yes, I'm a bloody tyrant."

Silence.

"Can we listen to that?" Spike pointed.

"Because it's an excellent album, yes, we can."

*

Giles sighed. "Boots _off_ the furniture, please. And why exactly is it you are wearing them indoors? Surely you realize you'll not be going anywhere."

Spike's eyes narrowed. "You expect me to go around in stocking feet, you're barking, mate. It simply isn't _done_."

"Really?" Giles sat at his desk, rummaged for a pencil. "What other behavioral customs do vampires practice?"

Spike shook his head. "Uh-uh. I'm not turning up in some Council of Wankers rag titled _A Vampire and His Boots Are Never Parted_."

Giles made a note in his diary. _Vampire subject very protective of footwear. Investigate further._

*

"We've been over and over this," Spike said in exasperation.

"Yes, we have," Giles said, massaging his temple. "I've made my position quite clear; you'll simply have to learn to respect it."

"You do realize the Professor Higgens treatment is wasted on me, right?"

"You, Spike, are hardly my idea of Eliza Doolittle."

"Vampires can't be housebroken, Rupert!"

"I'm only asking that you hang up your jacket when you're not wearing it."

He frowned. "Guess my bad manners means I get no afternoon cuppa, then."

Giles stared. "Of course you'll get tea. At least one of us is still civilized."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spike is a truth-teller.

As the door shut behind Buffy, Spike smirked at Giles.

"I saw that, you know."

"Saw what?" Giles asked, distracted.

"You totally phoned in that bit of fatherly mentoring."

"What? I did not."

"Right, you weren't daydreaming about that bird of yours, doing a bit of slo-mo replay of some particularly delicious moment." When Giles started his denial, Spike cut him off. "If I'd known a good shag would get you this mellow, I would've taken care of—"

"Not another word, Spike."

"What?" he asked innocently.

"There is no way in which that sentence ends well for you."

"Spoil-sport."

***

"Happy New Year, all." Giles lifted his glass.

Spike snorted. "You lot? A happy new year? Are you kidding? Should I start with our host, pining over his English lady-love? Or is it his dismissal from the Council? Or the feeling of utter uselessness and general midlife crisis?"

Giles stared at him. "Spike—"

Spike waved a hand. "Yeah, I'm moving on. We've got all the time in the world to sort out your troubles. How about the rest of you, hanging out with a middle-aged ex-librarian on the best night of the year for drinking, shagging, and assorted mayhem?"

*

"And again I ask, who invited him?" Xander asked.

"You, for example." Spike jabbed a finger in Xander's direction. "How 'bout we take bets on how many jobs you'll get fired from this year?"

"Hey!"

"And you." He pointed at Anya. "How the mighty are laid low. From vengeance demon to slayerette. Have you no pride?" He turned to Willow. "I suppose it'll be a good year for you, Red, if the end of your next relationship doesn't initiate global meltdown." He studied her as she blushed. "You've already got someone new, eh? We're all to assume crash positions, then?"

*

"How about you knock it off before I put my 'Pummel Spike as frequently as possible' resolution into practice?" Buffy interrupted.

"Can't take the truth, Slayer? What are _your_ other resolutions? Trying to avoid causing this year's apocalypse by noisily snogging your new boyfriend, Mr. Future Farmer of America, instead?"

"There's nothing wrong with having a regular guy as a boyfriend," Buffy retorted. "The whole vampire thing? Spending time with you has really shut off _that_ particular impulse!"

"Keep telling yourself that, Slayer."

Spike surveyed the sulky expressions around him. Not a bad New Year's Eve after all, he decided.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tea is had, papers are read, and books are discussed.

"All of this ruddy sunshine gets on my nerves," Spike groused.

"It's called _Sunny_dale, Spike. What did you expect?"

"I expected to confine my limited daylight adventures to the sewers." Spike looked indignant. "And you ought to be ashamed, taking your tea and paper outdoors – where's your loyalty to dreary old England?"

"I find sunshine invigorating." Giles wiped his glasses.

"Oh-ho, I know that tell. You actually hate sunshine, and go outside to avoid me, right?"

"Possibly."

"Must be annoying, then, how I always yell out to you."

"Terribly. But Mrs. Anderson across the courtyard enjoys the daily 'Passions' recap."

***

"What's this?" Spike asked, jerking his thumb at Giles's bookshelf.

Giles peered over his glasses. "Jonathan Spencer-Smythe's thesis on Angelus."

Spike jabbed at an open page. "Hey, was _me_ incited that riot, and I'm reduced to a bleeding footnote?!"

"You're doubtless credited with considerable mayhem in Lydia's thesis."

Spike's eyebrow quirked up. "Whose what?"

"A Watcher wrote her thesis on you. And no, I don't have a copy."

"Why not?" Spike asked indignantly.

"I've learned you defy all scholarship about you."

"In a good way or bad?"

"The very worst of ways."

Spike looked relieved. "Well, that's all right, then."

***

"Well?"

Spike closed the book. "It was okay."

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose. "Some, of course, would proclaim it a classic of twentieth-century literature."

Spike shrugged. "The action bits were decent. Was the incessant walking and talking that got old."

Giles sighed. "There's no character you found cause to identify with?"

"Well, yes, Rupert, I got the parallel. I'm not an idiot."

"You did?" Perhaps there was hope for him after all.

"Well, if you're Gandalf, Buffy's Frodo, and the Scoobies are the Fellowship, I'm clearly Legolas. A beautiful superior and immortal being?" He sniffed. "Rather obvious, really."

*

"Interesting. And the Gollum character in our merry band?"

"Again, easy. Angel's clearly Gollum."

Giles removed his glasses. "And you've come to that conclusion because?"

"A pathetic git always mooning over his precious soul or his precious Buffy? Who else could it be?"

"I was thinking of the fact that, despite his _numerous_ flaws, the others let Gollum live because he had a significant role to play before the end."

"You'd better not be suggesting what I think you're suggesting. _I'm_ Gollum? No way." Silence. "Can't I be Sauron?" he pleaded. "Getting chipped's a lot like losing the One Ring!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which scotch is had and women are discussed.

"You know who's a good-looking woman—" Spike began thoughtfully.

"Oh, dear Lord."

"What? We've talked about books and albums and even the bloody weather!"

"Why don't we discuss what we're _supposed_ to discuss?"

Spike looked blank.

"The commandos?" Giles prompted. "The reason you're here?"

Spike pulled a face. "Talk about those army boys on a long December night? C'mon! Plenty of time for that tomorrow."

Giles got up, walked into the kitchen. "Yet we never do seem to get around to them." He came out carrying a bottle of scotch. "I have the feeling I'll need fortification for this."

*

Spike knocked back his glass of scotch and huffed out a breath. "Good stuff, this. So, as I was saying, you know who's a good-looking woman is the slayer's mum, Joyce."

Giles choked on his drink at the sudden, unbidden memory of Joyce straddling him on the hood of that police car. "I quite agree," he replied in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice.

Spike fixed him with a look. "Wait a mo – you? And Joyce?"

Apparently not nonchalant enough.

"I've no idea what you're— Okay, yes," Giles confessed, defeated.

"You…and Joyce?"

"Could you sound a little _less_ incredulous?"

*

Spike poured another drink. "Well?"

"Surely you don't expect me to provide you with information about the…event."

Spike snorted. "'Course not. She's a lady, and I figured you for a gentleman." He drank. "Just curious as to how the hell it happened."

"Again with the tone of disbelief." Giles filled his glass. "It _was_ rather odd circumstances, actually. She wasn't exactly herself at the time."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Spike asked menacingly.

"A spell. Reverted us to our teenage selves." Giles paused, frowned. "Did you just _growl_ at me?"

"No," Spike scoffed. "Shoulda known it would be something like a spell."

*

"You _did_ just growl at me. And is that a yellow cast to your eyes?"

"No, it is not. This place is lit like a prison movie. See?" Spike widened his eyes.

"My mistake," Giles amended. "But you did growl, you know."

"Stop looking at me like a lab rat," Spike accused. "Maybe I did growl. What of it?"

"Well, the question of why springs to mind."

"Didn't like the idea of you taking advantage."

Giles looked confused. "Yes, but _why_? Doesn't your kind take pleasure in human suffering?"

"I happen to like the lady. Was good to me once."

*

"Remember when I came to town last year? Dru'd dumped me, and Joyce gave me a bit of tea and sympathy. Hot chocolate, actually."

"Still—"

"What can I say, Rupert? I'm not your average vamp. The rest of my 'kind' don't exactly bother to get to _know_ humans. Courtesy of the ruddy as-yet-unidentified commandos, though, I get up-close and personal with you lot."

"Yes, and those of us on the receiving end of this intimacy are truly delighted." Giles thought for a moment. "But this episode with Joyce was pre-chip, yes?"

"Oh, don't try to confound me with logic."

*

"You and Drusilla – you part company frequently, then?" Giles asked, seizing an opportunity to change the subject.

"We go our separate ways from time to time." Spike shrugged. "Always find our way back to each other."

"You're obviously not monogamous, though, correct?"

"Which one are you, Masters or Johnson?" Spike asked indignantly.

"My apologies. But as you say, there's not much opportunity for vampire/human interaction, so the Council's information on some of these matters is rather…incomplete."

"I'll just bet." Spike smirked. "Repressed, tweed-clad Watchers trying to sort out the sex lives of vampires? You poor sods don't stand a chance."

*

The scotch flowed in a steady rhythm with Spike's voice.

"Harmony?" Giles finally interrupted.

"Like your Olivia, I expect. What was it Anya said? An orgasm friend?"

Giles frowned.

"And now we're a couple of pathetic gits, devoid of female companionship. Bloody Bert and Ernie. Me, cast me away from bed and board on account of this chip. And you—"

"Stop there, please," Giles signaled while Spike grinned.

"Looks like it's just me and my hand tonight." Spike waggled his fingers. "And you and your hand. Basically, it's us and our hands."

Silence.

"I do have more scotch."

"Right."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the fellas celebrate Christmas Eve.

"I've something to tell you, Spike, and I'm not sure how you'll respond to it."

"Olivia coming for the holiday?" Spike smirked, then looked stricken. "No, I'm not going to Harris's to be subjected to Xander and Anya's 'Merry SeX-mas' marathon!"

Giles shook his head. "No, Olivia's not coming, and no, you don't have to leave. But we will be entertaining later this afternoon."

"Let me guess – A Very Scoobies Christmas Eve?"

"No, I volunteered to host a group from a local facility for underprivileged children."

"Hosting, like for snacking on purposes?"

"I trust I don't have to answer that."

*

"Ah, so this is part of your midlife out-of-work crisis. You've decided to fulfill the role of the neighbourhood's dirty old man?"

"Shut up, Spike, unless you'd like to spend your holidays outdoors," Giles replied. "You remember life outside these walls, yes? The place the commandos patrol? With their tasers and chips and probes?"

"You right bastard." Spike flipped Giles the two-finger salute and then sighed heavily. "Fine. What time are the kiddies coming? I imagine I'll need to be making myself scarce. Hanging out in your bedroom, is it?" He looked curious. "Do you have any porn up there?"

*

"No, there's no porn upstairs, but that's of no consequence, as you'll be joining me with the children."

Spike scoffed. "I bloody well will not. You'll not have me dressed as Santa, crying tots on my knee."

"Of course not. I'll be Santa. I do have a costume for you, though." Giles pulled out a green tunic, tights, and hat. "You're to be a Christmas elf."

Spike's mouth fell open.

"Buffy was going to help, but something's come up."

"I'll bet! If you think I'm going to wear a costume you ordered for the Slayer—"

"Commandos?"

"I hate you."

*

Spike fidgeted in his pointy shoes and grimaced at the scrutiny of the small girl peering up at him.

"Why are you sad, Christmas Elf?"

He sighed. "The Christmas Elf is starving, you see. He has a very specific diet, and old Santa there won't let him eat what he really wants."

"Were you bad?" the girl asked, sucking on her candy cane.

"Yes, terribly. I'm an evil, destructive—"

"That's quite enough, Christmas Elf," Giles interrupted. "Come here and hand out the presents, would you? Or perhaps you need an elf time-out? In the sun? To adjust your mood?"

*

Giles retreated into the kitchen with the last of the cups and plates. "Well, that was…exhilarating."

"Yes. If 'exhilarating' is code for bloody exhausting and seriously kafkaesque," Spike retorted, flopping on the couch and then wincing as he removed his shoes.

Giles returned with two glasses of eggnog and a shot glass of dark liquid. He handed the later to Spike.

"Human? I'm touched." Spike inhaled appreciatively. "This come from one of the kiddies?"

Giles looked shocked. "Of course not. I picked it up this morning on the chance you'd agree to help."

"Ta."

"Happy Christmas, Spike."

"Happy Christmas, Rupert."


	6. Gunpowder Treason and Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is talk of British traditions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For deborahw37's request for Spike and Giles bonding over British traditions during "Pangs."

"Oh, dear Lord." Giles sat down with a sigh and picked up a glass of scotch.

"Knew you were miserable with that lot of pilgrims having descended upon your kitchen," Spike crowed. "Something faintly galling about the celebration, you ask me."

"I don't recall having asked you, actually."

Spike continued, undeterred. "As if getting to the New World is something to get excited about. Piffle. You know what November's good for? Effigies and bonfires, mate."

Giles thought of his youth and smiled. "'We gather together' doesn't quite have the same ring as 'Remember, remember, the fifth of November,'" he agreed.


End file.
